Reunion
The squad under Harper's command reached the vehicle quickly, despite the weighty Browning machine gun. Harper herself immediately began trying to contact the captain while Andreas and Jason engaged in a heated discussion. Meanwhile, the rest of the team formed something resembling a defensive perimeter. Vaggie kept her distance, not wanting to provoke the soldiers unnecessarily. She understood all too well that changing their prejudiced opinions about her—or the rest of her kind—was a near-impossible task. And who could blame them? These were humans trapped in the depths of hell, hardened military personnel. Trust, especially from soldiers, was a rare and guarded commodity, something Vaggie knew firsthand.
“Valkyrie calling SP1-1, over… Valkyrie calling Big Boss, do you copy?” Harper’s voice repeated over the radio. After several failed attempts, a garbled voice finally broke through the static.
“SP1-1 here, report,” said the captain.
“Cap, we found traces of the missing squad. Leftover MREs and an M2 machine gun. There was an enemy presence in the building; we neutralized it and searched the premises, but we couldn’t locate the team or their bodies. It looks like they evacuated the shelter in a hurry.”
“Understood, Valkyrie. Send your exact coordinates. We’re en route and should reach your sector within thirty minutes. Hold your position. Over and out.”
Harper removed her headset and set it down on the massive block of the military radio. She climbed out of the MRAP and approached her team.
“Alright, listen up. The captain and his group will be here in thirty minutes. Until then, we need to secure this area. Let’s check the nearby buildings while the others guard the vehicle. Hey, you—civilian-lite—you’re coming with us.”
“Why the hell are we dragging a demon along? We can handle this ourselves,” Jason grumbled.
“An extra pair of eyes doesn’t hurt,” Harper retorted. Vaggie stared back at her with a deadpan expression. Andreas smirked.
“Well, an extra eye couldn’t hurt,” Jason added, barely suppressing a laugh.
“¡Hijo de puta!” Vaggie muttered through gritted teeth.
“Deja a la madre fuera de esto,” Harper quipped back. Then it dawned on her—the demon had just spoken Spanish. Another peculiar coincidence, joining the growing list. “Interesting,” Harper thought.
The small team moved toward the nearest unchecked building, which Harper suspected could be used for an ambush. Room by room, they combed through it but found nothing. Harper noted how methodical the demon was in clearing rooms—movements and techniques reminiscent of police or military training. Her thoughts raced, narrowing to two unsettling possibilities: either hell had its own military forces, or this demon had been trained by someone well-versed in tactical operations. But neither explanation accounted for the gestures or knowledge of Spanish.
Building after building, they continued their search, scanning for potential enemies (however slim the chances). Harper picked up more signs of Vaggie’s combat readiness, each one reinforcing her suspicions. Suddenly, Andreas signaled for silence and pointed toward the window. Outside, a massive horde of demons was moving down the street. Armed with submachine guns like Uzis, crude melee weapons, and makeshift armaments, the demons presented a chaotic, diverse appearance. Some were tall, others hunched or bestial, their forms grotesquely varied. Yet they all bore the unmistakable markings of raiders—rugged, mismatched attire characteristic of outlaws.
“We need to move. Now,” Harper commanded in a hushed tone.
They bolted from the building, racing back to the MRAP to warn the others. By their estimation, the horde’s route would lead them straight to the vehicle.
The soldiers and Vaggie sprinted down the street, the horde close on their heels but unable to match their speed.
“Why the hell do we always run into hordes?” Jason wheezed.
“If it weren’t for the main mission, I’d love to mow them down,” Andreas remarked.
“I don’t know if this matters right now,” Vaggie said, her voice steady, “but I think they know about you. They’re too organized for raiders.”
“Oh, look who’s Sherlock now!” Harper shot back, her sarcasm biting. “But the demon’s got a point. They knew we were here. Damn, this is bad.”
They reached the squad’s position quickly. Their hurried pace set everyone on edge; the soldiers had already begun preparing for the worst. Logan, seated at the MRAP’s mounted machine gun, checked the ammo belt, while the others nervously scanned the surroundings.
“What’s the situation, Valkyrie?” Logan asked, his eyes meeting Harper’s as she fiddled with the radio.
“Horde of demons. Fifty, maybe more. Headed this way. Armed and—this part worries me—organized. This isn’t just a raiding party.”
Logan scowled.
“What the hell? There shouldn’t be a gathering like that in this sector.”
“Doesn’t matter why they’re here,” Harper snapped, turning to her team. “What matters is holding them off until the captain gets here with reinforcements. Logan, on the machine gun. Jason, Andreas, cover the flanks. Everyone else—prepare for combat!”
The soldiers nodded wordlessly and moved into position, prepping for a potential clash. Vaggie hung back, observing them.
“You just gonna stand there?” Andreas barked at her.
“I’ll help if needed,” she replied coolly.
Harper turned to her.
“You will be needed. Got a weapon?” Vaggie shook her head.
“Figures. Spare rifle under the seat. Move it!”
Vaggie retrieved the weapon—a familiar HK416, identical to those carried by the squad, albeit stripped of a silencer and equipped with a holographic sight. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, checking the weapon’s condition and attachments.
“It’ll do,” she remarked flatly, locking the rifle into firing mode.
“Good. Take the right flank. Everyone, stay sharp!” Harper barked, taking cover near the MRAP and aiming her rifle toward the direction of the incoming threat.
The air grew tense as the distant rumble of footsteps intensified, accompanied by the low growl of the horde.
“They’re close,” Jason muttered, crouching behind a nearby container.
Through the thickening fog, the demons emerged. Their leader—a hulking figure clad in a tattered tactical vest and heavy boots, his piercing gaze cutting through the haze—led them with eerie precision. They moved like soldiers, disciplined and unafraid. That was the most unnerving detail of all.
“Hold position. Wait for my signal,” Harper muttered, her voice tight with concentration.
Vaggie pressed herself against a building wall, her eyes keenly tracking the enemy’s every movement. She noted how one limped, how another gestured commands. Then, one demon stopped abruptly, scanning the surroundings as if sensing something.
“Light them up!” Harper’s shout broke the tension.
Logan’s machine gun roared to life, spewing fire and lead into the advancing horde. Chaos erupted as the demons scattered, some felled by the opening salvo, others returning fire from cover.
“Civvy, cover the flank!” Harper shouted, and without hesitation, Vaggie obeyed. She raised her rifle, her shots precise and lethal. Her movements were mechanical yet fluid, the kind only years of experience could produce. Harper, even amidst the chaos, couldn’t help but notice.
“Don’t let up! We can’t let them breach!” Harper yelled. “Heavy! Target at eleven o’clock!”
Another wave of demons poured in from an adjacent street—thirty more, heavily armed.
“Grenade launcher, on my mark!” Harper ordered. Then came the whistle of a rocket…
BOOM!
The cover shielding the group of demons shattered into pieces, sending shards of brick flying and inflicting additional damage. As the dust and debris cleared, the remaining demons scrambled to regroup. Some looked around, clearly searching for their leader, likely obliterated in the explosion. This confusion granted Harper’s squad a few precious seconds.
“Regroup! Logan, keep suppressing them! Everyone else—cover the perimeter!” Harper’s voice was calm and precise, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Jason and Andreas exchanged a quick glance before moving closer to the vehicle, covering each other as they went. Vaggie, holding her position on the right flank, continued her precise shooting, keeping the enemy at bay. Meanwhile, Harper spotted reinforcements emerging from one of the damaged walls of a nearby building. This new group moved with more coordination than the rest. One carried a grenade launcher, another wielded what looked like an automatic shotgun. The rest were armed with various firearms.
“Damn it, the flanks!” Harper shouted, pivoting her HK toward the new threat. She opened suppressive fire, but it did little to slow their advance. “¡La puta madre! Civic, get over here!” With no time for hesitation, Vaggie abandoned her original position, which Logan on the MRAP’s turret-mounted machine gun was already covering effectively. She slid through the rubble, taking cover near Harper.
“What’s the plan, ‘pro’?” Vaggie asked with her usual sarcasm, settling behind some debris.
“Keep these bastards pinned while I handle the guy with the grenade launcher,” Harper instructed, reloading her weapon and wiping dust from her face. Vaggie nodded, immediately laying down precise fire to suppress the enemy. Harper, meanwhile, tried to line up a shot on the grenadier, but he was too well-hidden behind cover.
Suddenly, a familiar whistle filled the air.
“GET DOWN!” Harper yelled, shoving Vaggie to the ground just as an RPG rocket slammed into their position.
BAAAM!
The explosion sent debris flying in all directions, and the shockwave momentarily disoriented them. Harper lay sprawled on the ground, feeling the dust and fragments rain down on her back. Her ears rang, but she quickly pushed herself to her knees, clutching her rifle.
“Civvy, you alive?” she yelled, trying to outshout the lingering ringing in her ears and the din of gunfire.
“Yeah!” Vaggie’s voice came back, muffled but steady. She shook her head to clear it, wiping blood from a cut on her temple before pressing herself closer to the ground. “¡Mierda! We need to take out that grenadier, or we’re toast.”
“I know!” Harper growled through gritted teeth, scanning for an opening. Her eyes caught a narrow gap between two wrecked vehicles leading to a flanking route. It was risky, but it might work.
“Listen, Civvy,” Harper turned to Vaggie, her voice grave but focused. “Keep their eyes on you. Shoot high, make sure they can’t pop out. Let them think we’re both stuck here.”
“Got it,” Vaggie said with a sharp nod, adjusting her rifle.
Harper took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then, staying as low as possible, she began creeping along the rubble, ignoring the sporadic gunfire echoing around her. Every step was a gamble; every sound behind her felt like a knife at her back.
“If I miss, I’m screwed,” she whispered, her hand brushing over the grenade in her pocket. “But damn it, it’s worth the risk.”
Reaching a position with an angle on the grenadier’s cover, Harper steadied herself. She pulled the pin from the grenade, waited a beat, and hurled it with precision.
The seconds stretched unbearably. The grenade, like a vengeful angel, found its mark.
BOOM!
The explosion obliterated the grenadier’s cover, scattering concrete and steel fragments and knocking nearby enemies off their feet. Harper felt the shockwave even from her position but quickly pressed herself against the debris and readied her rifle again.
Harper exhaled deeply, steadying her breathing. The grenadier was neutralized, but the gunfire hadn’t let up. The enemy pressed on, trying to surround their position. She glanced at Vaggie, who was still behind cover, systematically taking shots.
“Civvy!” Harper yelled above the cacophony.
Vaggie turned her head, her face smeared with dust but her focus unwavering.
“The grenadier’s down. Keep suppressing them—I’m checking the flank!” Harper instructed.
Vaggie nodded, lifting her rifle to fire again, keeping the enemy pinned.
Harper assessed the situation. The rest of the squad was holding the central line, but their resources were wearing thin. Over the radio, tense voices crackled:
“We’re surrounded! Captain, where are you? A few more minutes, and we’re done for!”
Andrew’s voice broke through: “Hold on! We’re en route. Give us an entry point!”
Harper cursed under her breath, darting to another piece of cover. “Captain, get your ass here already!”
“Three o’clock! They’re moving in formation!” Vaggie shouted, snapping Harper’s attention to the right.
Harper swung her rifle around, spotting a group advancing with shields.
“Damn it,” Harper muttered, opening fire to slow their advance. “Grenade launcher, over here!” she barked into her comms.
Henry responded immediately, hefting the launcher onto his shoulder as he rushed over. His face was tight with concentration, but his eyes were resolute.
“What’s the target?” he asked quickly.
“Three o’clock! They’re coming in a phalanx with shields,” Harper directed. “Hit the center, break their line. Civvy, cover him!”
“On it!” Vaggie responded, already shifting her focus to provide suppressive fire.
Henry took position, adjusted his aim, and fired. The projectile sailed through the air, landing dead center in the enemy formation.
BOOM!
The explosion shattered the phalanx, sending shields flying and enemies sprawling.
“Bullseye!” Henry shouted, grinning as he prepared for another shot.
Just then, the roar of an engine cut through the noise, and bright headlights illuminated the battlefield. Harper turned, recognizing the reinforcements at once. The captain’s unit had arrived, their turret-mounted machine gun roaring as it sprayed the enemy with bullets.
“The cavalry has arrived!” Sergeant Edward’s voice boomed over the radio.
“Right on time!” Andreas cheered, unleashing a barrage from his scavenged M2 machine gun.
“WOOHOO!” Henry yelled, firing a celebratory shot into the air. A useless but cherished tradition among their unit.
The enemy, recognizing the shift in odds, sounded a retreat. A horn blared, and the demons began to pull back in haste.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU!” Andreas roared, letting off another burst of fire before Harper smacked him on the shoulder.
“Save the ammo, hero. Let them run. We’ve still got work to do,” she said, her voice steady but fatigued.
“Ah, crap…” Andreas muttered, lowering the gun as smoke curled from its barrel.
Vaggie, standing nearby, watched the retreating foes. “Did anyone else hear that horn? These guys are too organized for raiders.”
“Maybe,” Andrew replied curtly. “Valkyrie, prep the squad for cleanup and report your findings. Shade, get the doc over to check the wounded. We don’t leave anything behind—not a scrap or clue.”
“Understood, Captain!” Harper and Connor responded in unison.
The journey to the hotel on the city's outskirts felt unbearably long. A small squad of three lost soldiers moved through the streets of the infernal city, trying not to attract too much attention. Given their gear, this was slightly problematic. Though it wasn’t the gear itself drawing the locals' attention, but its quality and condition—something rarely seen in Hell. The soldiers had already encountered several beings wearing something resembling combat uniforms, but all of it was worn-out and tattered. Despite the abnormality of everything around them, Lewis didn’t miss a chance to complain.
“Damn it, when are we finally getting to that damn hotel…” he grumbled.
“When are you going to stop whining…” Ares muttered irritably. “You’re not the only one tired, but you’re whining enough for an entire platoon.”
“Well, excuse me, when we got assigned to this mission, I didn’t think we’d end up in BLOODY HELL! So yeah, sorry for not being thrilled about it,” Lewis shot back.
“First of all, YOU WHINE CONSTANTLY!” Ares shouted at his companion. “Second, STOP YELLING SO FUCKING LOUDLY, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. If we’re really in Hell, like Cherry said, it’s probably best not to advertise that we’re alive.” His voice fluctuated between shouting and a tense whisper.
“I don’t like agreeing with him, but Ares is right—keep it down. We don’t need more trouble on the way. So far, we’re lucky no one’s dared to attack us thanks to our gear and weapons,” David said.
“Oh, sure, lucky,” Lewis sneered, adjusting the strap on his rifle. “I bet every one of these demons looking at us is just waiting to steal all our equipment, dismember us, and use us for some ritual.”
“Maybe not dismember you,” Ares quipped with a sly grin. “Maybe someone will want to adopt you since you’re whining like a lost child.”
“Very funny,” Lewis snapped. “We’ll see who’s calling for their mommy when one of these ‘lovely locals’ decides to pounce on us.”
It was impossible to tell exactly how much time had passed before the soldiers finally reached the hill on the outskirts. At its peak stood a monstrously large building with a sign on top that read “HAPPY HOTEL.”
“Am I in some kind of kids’ cartoon, or who the hell thought up a name like that in HELL?!” Ares exclaimed.
“Out of everything we’ve seen, this is what strikes you as strange?” David asked. Ares simply shrugged. “Fair enough…”
“Happiness in Hell… Logic clearly isn’t this place’s strong suit,” Lewis noted, eyeing the building with its strange name. “I can’t even decide which is more unsettling—a name like that or, say, a bull tapeworm…”
“Don’t expect Heaven after death if you didn’t create it during life. Hell is merely a reflection of our deeds,” Ares mused after a few long moments of silence.
“Damn it, Ares, you’ve been spending way too much time with Levon and the preacher,” David responded to the sudden philosophical remark.
“Quietly eat your matzo and stay focused,” Ares quipped. “Alright, let’s knock or something…”
David knocked three times on the massive door. Despite their expectations, no one opened it. He shrugged and was about to leave when Ares took the initiative, simply trying to open the door. To their surprise, it swung open, revealing a spacious entryway cluttered with boxes and covered in a thick layer of dust.
“Flawless! Greater than great!” Ares said with open sarcasm as he stepped inside. “I’m starting to think this place has been abandoned for ages.”
“And Cherry said it was recently opened… Guess news travels a decade late in Hell,” Lewis suggested. “Wait a minute…”
Lewis approached a massive oak desk. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but after a few moments, he noticed what looked like dried blood stains embedded in the wood.
“We need to thoroughly search this place,” David said firmly, taking his rifle off safety.
Harper had described everything to the captain in detail—the firefight, what they found in the building (including a machine gun and rations). What she hadn’t shared was her suspicion about the demon (Vaggie) assigned to her. This anomaly was something she planned to figure out herself. Knowledge of hand signals, combat skills, and fluency in Spanish… It was all too strange to be mere coincidence.
When they returned to the building where the squad’s traces were found, the captain ordered a full inspection. They concluded that the squad had fought someone there. The walls were cracked, clearly from recent combat, and small holes dotted their surface, likely from bullets or other projectiles. Additionally, a hatch on the first floor leading to the cellar had also been opened recently—possibly a hiding spot for the squad.
“Alright, men, we’re done here. We need to refuel the vehicles and possibly use the locals’ services. Finding them ourselves seems unlikely,” the captain concluded.
As they headed to the vehicles, packed far too tightly for an entire platoon (two vehicles were not enough), at least one thing was clear: the soldiers were still alive, and now they had some idea of what had happened.
“Y’know, this hotel looks more like an estate,” Lewis said, glancing at a photograph of three figures—a short humanoid in a white suit with pale skin and red circles on its cheeks, a teenage girl with the same pale skin, and a tall woman with long hair and massive horns.
“What a lovely family…” Ares muttered, a chill running down his spine.
“They’re not the weirdest things we’ve seen. Remember that snake with the eggs…” Lewis remarked.
“At least they were funny. These guys are posing like they’re royalty or something. Damn, it’d be REALLY unfunny if that’s Satan in the photo,” Ares replied.
“And which one’s supposed to be Satan?” David chuckled, lightening the tension. “Wait… do you hear that?”
The soldiers froze, listening closely. Strange noises came from somewhere down the corridor to their right. They advanced and spotted a slightly ajar door. Ares decided to peek in first. When he did, he was stunned—lying on the bed was none other than Sergeant Adam. Unconscious, his body was covered in shrapnel and bullet wounds. But most unsettling of all, someone was standing next to him. Someone tall but compactly built.
Without hesitation, Ares threw the door open, pointing his HK416 at the unknown figure and switching on the powerful flashlight.
“STEP AWAY FROM THE SERGEANT!” he yelled. David and Lewis immediately entered the room, also aiming their weapons at the demon.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked in panic, raising her hands and stepping back from the bed.
“ON YOUR KNEES!” Ares barked furiously, keeping Charlie at gunpoint.
“You’ve got it all wrong!” Charlie pleaded, confused by the soldiers’ hostility. Wait… were these even the same soldiers? She wanted to explain, but...
Suddenly, something creaked, and Ares felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. A raspy voice weakly uttered, “Stand… down…” Ares turned, startled, and saw Sergeant Adam standing unsteadily behind him. His wounds looked even worse up close, and it was clear he was struggling to remain on his feet.
“Sir, what happened to you, and who is this?!” the soldier asked, pointing his rifle toward Charlie.
“Wounded… upon arrival in this godforsaken place. And she” —he gestured toward Charlie— “is not an enemy. This young lady kindly offered us shelter here for as long as we need,” the sergeant finished, cautiously lowering himself back onto the bed. David helped steady him.
“This is all very nice, but, um, can I get uuuuup now?” Charlie asked. Ares nodded, put away his weapon, and, to everyone’s surprise, offered his hand to help her up. His tone and demeanor were a stark contrast to the tension from just minutes ago. “My apologies for the roughness. A sergeant’s friends are my friends.”
“You’re the missing soldiers, aren’t you?” Charlie asked, addressing the group.
“Depends on what you mean by that, but I suppose, yes,” David replied. “Have you seen the others?”
“Yes! Your captain arrived a couple of days ago, and he’s been tirelessly searching all over Hell for you! By the way, how should I address you?” Charlie asked. Silence hung in the air as the soldiers exchanged glances. Only Ares seemed confident.
“Ah, screw the rules. I’m Ares. Or Hardcase, whatever you prefer. These two are SP2-7 and SP2-8.”
“David. No need for a number. And this is Lewis,” he said, motioning to his right. Lewis gave a short nod.
Charlie froze for a moment, her eyes wide. “Real names…” she murmured almost inaudibly. Then, with renewed enthusiasm, she exclaimed, “I’m Charlie! Nice to meet you!”
“You said the captain was here. Where is he now?” Ares asked, pulling off his balaclava. Standing before Charlie was a completely ordinary man—someone she would have instantly recognized as Mediterranean if she'd ever lived in the mortal realm. Black hair, tall stature, tanned skin, and brown eyes—a classic Greek appearance.
“He went out again to search for you. You can wait downstairs in the lounge. There’s a couch, a TV, and maybe some coffee?” Charlie switched into her hotel manager mode.
“Hah, looks like my comment earlier might stop being sarcastic,” Ares chuckled, glancing at his comrades. They smiled faintly.
A few hours later, the MRAPs pulled up to the hotel again. Once the engines were turned off, soldiers began climbing out, eager for the relatively fresh air (as fresh as air in Hell could get). They unloaded crates of equipment and brought in new fuel canisters. As always, the captain was scowling; despite their efforts, they had made little progress in finding the missing soldiers.
Jason grabbed one of the crates and trudged into the hotel. He grunted under the weight of the military-grade ammunition box but carried on determinedly. When he reached the lounge, he stopped dead in his tracks. Something felt off. He turned his head, and there…
On an old, worn-out couch sat Ares, David, and Lewis. They looked far too relaxed for soldiers who had been missing in action. A coffee pot and three steaming mugs sat on the table in front of them, and Ares and David were animatedly arguing over a game of backgammon.
“Your turn,” Ares said, idly spinning the pieces on the board with his fingers. “And don’t even try to say I cheated.”
“Cheated! Levon must’ve taught you that move,” David retorted, nodding at the board. “Lewis, back me up!”
“No idea,” Lewis replied, sipping leisurely from his mug.
Jason stared at the trio, his face shifting from shock to fury. He blinked several times as if to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” he finally shouted.
All three turned to look at him. Lewis raised an eyebrow, while Ares didn’t even bother to pause his dice roll.
“Jason, why are you yelling? People are trying to relax here,” Ares said calmly, sliding a winning combination toward David.
“Relax?! We’ve been searching Hell for you, and you’re HERE?! DRINKING COFFEE?! PLAYING BACKGAMMON?!” Jason bellowed, dropping the crate with a loud thud.
Ares shrugged.
“Well… you were looking for us. And now you’ve found us. Congrats. Want some coffee?”
“The captain’s going to kill you, you bastards!” Jason yelled, clutching his head. “And I’ll help him!”
“What’s going on here… OH, HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Andreas exclaimed, entering the room. “ARES! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? WE’VE BEEN SEARCHING ALL OVER HELL FOR YOU!”
“Haha, good to see you too,” Ares said, standing up. “Well, you must not have been looking very hard, considering we found ourselves.”
The captain entered the room, and when he saw the missing soldiers, his face softened slightly, almost resembling a smile. “Damn it, boys, it’s good to see you. Is Levon with you?” The trio exchanged uneasy glances. Of course, it couldn’t all be that easy.
Opening his eyes, Levon could barely make out his surroundings. He realized he was lying on a cold, damp floor, his hands and feet tightly bound, water dripping from the ceiling. Levon tried to turn his head, but his muscles ached from exhaustion, making it a slow and painful effort. When he finally managed, through a small crack in the door, he noticed a faint flicker of light and the sound of a television crackling in the distance.
“Well, look who’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice said as the door creaked open. When it was fully ajar, the room was illuminated by the flickering light of the TV screen.